No Good Deed
by Queen Boadicea
Summary: Spike is offered a reward for his sacrifice on the Hellmouth.


Title: No Good Deed

Author: Queen Boadicea

Email: queenboadiceaoftheiceni@yahoo.com

Spoiler Warning: Spoilers for Buffy the Vampire Slayer, season seven

Disclaimer: This belongs to Joss Whedon and the usual gang of idi…uh, geniuses

Pairing: Spike/?

Feedback: Do your worst—it can't compare to my worst ;)

Spike paced up and down nervously. The room was a pearly off white with high domed ceilings and there was soft music playing from an invisible source. That didn't help to put him at ease, however. In fact, it was beginning to get on his soddin' nerves.

He'd died in helping those silly Potentials and Buffy fight the First's army; he was fairly certain of that. That bleedin' amulet the great poof had given Buffy which she'd then gifted to Spike had been ripping him apart. It made him wonder if the bastard hadn't somehow set him up for this. Why else just leave the thing in Buffy's hands knowing how dangerous it was? He couldn't have meant it for the Slayer, that's for sure. But could he have predicted that Spike would use it instead? 

Whatever else had gone on between his Grandsire and Buffy would have to remain a mystery. What wasn't a puzzle was the fact that he was dead. The only questions really concerning him now were what was going to happen to him and where had he wound up anyway? When he resumed pacing, he saw a figure had joined him and started violently. "Flippin' 'ell! Where'd you come from, mate?"

"Oh, I get around." The demon, one of the most badly dressed that Spike had ever seen, peered at Spike narrowly in a calculating fashion the vampire didn't like one bit.

"Who the hell are you then?" Spike snapped. He wished he could have a cigarette but all he had on were his clothes and his duster. At least that had survived intact.

"Where are my manners? Name's Whistler. I used to do business with an old friend of yours. The other souled vamp," he added by way of clarification.

"You mean the Great Poofster? That don't recommend you in my book," Spike said dismissively.

"Yeah, well, that's too bad. I was here to give you your reward for saving the world. But if you're not interested…" Whistler shrugged and began to fade away.

Spike perked up at that statement though outwardly he remained nonchalant. "No, hang on. Did you say I'm getting a reward?"

The demon snapped back into clarity and grinned. "Thought that would get your attention. See, the higher ups who keep an eye on the way things are going on Earth have been watching you and your progress and think you should be given compensation for all your toil and suffering. Let's see…" 

He trailed off and cocked his head to the side as if looking at something invisible to the vampire. "I'm seeing you with a dyed blond…yeah, she's a hot number, all right…she didn't love you. Still pining over the big, dark-haired bastard who left her and broke her heart. But she was hot for you this last year, wasn't she? Right after you got your soul back, if I'm not mistaken."

"Yeah, you got it, mate." Spike could barely speak for the excitement gripping him. "She and me, we were always meant to be together. Just took awhile for her see that."

The demon nodded sympathetically. "I'm betting the impromptu sex didn't help matters any, though. She was messed up emotionally and hurting; you just happened to be there and you took advantage."

Spike scowled. "Hell, there was more to it than that and she knew it."

Whistler held up his hands placatingly. "Oh, I see that perfectly. You were both miserable about the lives you were forced to lead. She and you went through a lot of changes, things that set you off from the others, her so-called friends. You were both finding it hard to adjust to everybody else's expectations. She was willing to turn to you when she was lonely and in pain. She turned to you for solace. Hell, she even forgave you for smacking her around in that nightclub. You two have so much in common, it's scary. I mean, given your separate histories and the choices you made because of them, it was obvious the two of you were made for each other."

Spike grinned at Whistler. Awful clothes aside, this bloke seemed to have his head firmly on his shoulders. "Too right. But what's all this got to do with my reward?"

Whistler raised his eyebrows. "I'd have thought it was obvious, guy. The Powers are going to reward you by giving you _her_. You see, there's something Angel never told anybody outside of his little circle. There's a prophecy that the vamp with a soul would become human after fighting to avert an apocalypse or two, some plagues, that sort of thing. It's his reward for good behavior. Angel and company always thought it would be him." The demon paused and smirked meaningfully at Spike.

"But instead I get to be the designated party?" A malicious grin flitted over Spike's face. He loved the idea of snatching a prize away from that oversized brooding ponce, whether the treasure was Buffy or humanity. 

The demon continued. "So the gist of it is—you get to be human and living with her. Sound like a good deal to you?"

If his heart were still working, it would have flown out of his chest. "You mean it? I can have her—_and_ I get to be human?" Spike's mind raced over the possibilities of being human with Buffy.

"That's right, palie. In fact, humanity would be pretty much of a given, seeing that's what she is. So how's about it? You ready to return to terra firma?"

Spike grinned and clapped Whistler on the shoulder hard enough to make the demon stagger. "I was born ready."

Spike's eyes flew open as the alarm rang. The noise was a shrill, unpleasant pealing in his ears. "Shit!" he groaned as his hand flew automatically to swat at the offending noise. He squinted and then fell out of the bed in terror as he saw the sunlight through the windows falling onto his unprotected flesh. 

The next moment, he recalled what had just happened to him. Was it possible—? He stretched out his hand cautiously into the sun and saw that it didn't ignite. "He did it. I'm human. I'm bloody human!" He jumped up from the floor and was going to run out the door when he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror over the dresser drawer.

He looked much the same on the surface. But his hair was different. It was no longer the familiar peroxide blonde color but his natural sandy brown. Why would his hair be like that? Had he changed it for Buffy? Still, he was so pleased to see his reflection after 120-odd years that he wasn't going to quibble.

He was also wearing boxers. Since when did he wear underthings to bed? Would Buffy have changed this about him, too? That didn't make sense. He always preferred going commando—easier to get down to business when he was interested in shagging.

"Spike? Spike, aren't you up yet? You have to get up or you'll be late for your job at the post office." The whiny voice floated up from someplace behind the closed door and he frowned. That voice sounded familiar and nothing like Buffy's. Cautiously he turned towards the door when it flew open before he could touch it. His eyes widened and he stared at the vision in the doorway.

Anya stood there, a baby being cradled in one arm as she bottle-fed it with the other. She scowled at him and began scolding. "Look at you! You're not even dressed! You better get a move on. You can't afford to be late again. Mr. Deveril said he'd fire you if you were late one more time this month."

"Anya? Fu—what's going on? What are you doing here?" Spike stuttered.

She frowned, the action causing a well-worn crease to appear on her forehead. "What I'm doing is getting the kids dressed and ready for school. The babysitter will be arriving any minute and I have to give her her instructions. Timmy's still getting over his cold but one more day and I think he's just faking it. You should call the school and see if he's malingering to avoid one of their tests designed to grade children's scholastic abilities."

"Children?" he asked, stupefied. As if on cue, two screaming children, one boy and a girl, ran into the room. The boy was clutching a stuffed cat in his grimy fist and teasing the girl by snatching it out of her reach. 

"Daddy, Lonnie's got my Princess Cat! Make him give it back!" she screeched at the top of her lungs. The high-pitched noise made him flinch. But the male child who answered her sounded no better.

"I told you to keep it in your room. It's in my room, that makes it mine," the boy taunted, sticking his tongue out at the irate little girl.

Anya rolled her eyes and handed the baby she was holding to him. In his shock, he opened his arms automatically to grasp the sticky infant. She bent down and snatched the toy out of the boy's hands. "Lonnie, this isn't yours. Behave yourself or daddy will spank and his hands are a lot harder than mine." The doorbell rang and she straightened up, sighing in relief. "That'll be the babysitter. Get dressed, Spike. If you appear before her in your underwear, she might bring charges of sexual harassment against you." Without another word, she turned and dragged the two struggling children with her.

Spike darted after the fleeing woman as he tried to juggle the now agitated baby in his arms. "Hang on! There's got to be some mistake! These can't be—" He ran to the bottom steps and skidded to a halt.

Through an open door, he could see a cluttered kitchen table, dirty dishes haphazardly piled in the sink and a garbage can stuffed with diapers. Cringing from the odor of baby poop and sour milk, he attempted escape to the living room.

As he stood there, oblivious to the baby's fussy cries and Anya chattering to the babysitter in the background, he saw the pictures on the mantel and walls. There were photos of Anya and his wedding day with him in an uncomfortable looking tux; shots of her and him with baby after baby after baby; Christmas photos, barbecue shots, all with him and Anya wearing increasingly pained grimaces as if they couldn't believe the mess they'd landed in.

With a growing sinking feeling, he recalled Whistler's words about the troubled dyed blond who'd kept hanging around him after he'd regained his soul. How the two of them had similar natures and a matching history of romantic troubles… 

As he realized the nature of his supposed reward and how he'd been royally screwed, Spike tilted his head to the ceiling and yelled to the unseen Powers. 

"BLOODY HELL!!!"

Finis

[A/N] Oh, come on. You didn't _really_ think I'd have Spike wind up with Buffy, did you?


End file.
